DAY 103 16MAR2010: I should have stayed in bed today and I knew it. Somehow I just knew this day would be a waste. The day was intended well. Our glorious 1-1 AD Medical Road Show was on the move. We were to push out to COB McHenry and do some work. The Road Show was there a little over a month ago. It was a successful trip. This outpost has the 2nd largest population of our troops and they are living in what would be considered less than ideal conditions. Indirect fire occurs frequently, constant missions, horrible DFAC, and worst of all…port-a-johns only. The port-a-john cleaning schedule is well known by the troops. It is an art and a skill to time your bowel movement just so you arrive early enough that you are not wiping off someone else’s misfire but late enough that the inside of the john is not soaking wet from its recent high pressure wash. Obviously, living in this kind of state means there is a lot of business for behavior health and physical therapy when we get over here.
By air Mchenry is only a 15-20 minute direct flight from here. We have been lucky to have some direct flights during our travels but this is not the norm. Somehow I knew today would not be anything but the norm. Our scheduled flight was not to leave until 2230 or so tonight. However, our lieutenant in charge of scheduling the road show, whose husband happens to live at Mchenry and who would be traveling with us, thought it would be a good idea that we get to the terminal this morning at 0900 so that we can attempt to get on an earlier space-A (space available) flight. I couldn’t disagree solely because of her ulterior motive so I went with it. An extra ½ day in Mchenry won’t kill me and if Amber were there I sure as hell would find any way possible to get over there, and as often as possible. Also, this afternoon a windstorm may come through that would make visibility too poor to get out tonight. This morning though there is only a slight haze in the sky and no wind to speak of.
We get our things (ruck sack, IOTV, ACH, weapons, supplies) together at the clinic and finally find a ride over to the terminal two miles away. We walk into the terminal which is littered with Soldiers preparing to return home for R&R and check in at the front counter. We know the two Soldier’s that work here behind the desk now. One we know from our multiple flights and the other is a former patient of mine. A good thing about being the brigade pt is that you meet a great percentage of the Soldier’s and occasionally this works out to your advantage (not the case today). We are informed that there is a flight at 1130, there is room for us, but the weather situation at Mchenry is up in the air right now. They recommend we wait. This was expected. So we sit in the terminal, we read, we stretch, we shoot the shit. It’s not unlike sitting at some airport in the states waiting for a flight. Two hours and forty minutes later we are informed that the flight we are trying to hitch on “is a very VIP flight” and that they have now been informed to tell us there is not going to be room. Awesome. Not to worry though, our original flight for tonight is still on and we are on the manifest meaning we will not be bumped for a VIP. We call the clinic to have someone come pick us up, but of course the clinic vehicle is gone. It’s time to walk our sorry butts and gear to the bus stop and wait for a ride. As the bus approaches we hop up noticing that it appears full. “Fuck it” says Jill “We’re getting on this bitch”. As we walk towards the bus an ambulance pulls up behind it and honks at us. Sweet, a couple of medics are on a mail run and pick us up. We have a pretty good laugh about the absolute randomness of our lives as we ride back to the clinic in full battle rattle in the back of a civilian ambulance being used as mail truck. I am starving by now and am happy to be on my way to this DFAC for lunch. Morning was wasted but at least I can get some good meals in and maybe a good workout later. We don’t have to be back to the terminal until around 2100 tonight.
We go to lunch and laugh more about the morning’s misfortunes. I get back to the clinic preparing for afternoon clinic when LT busts in and tells me to grab my gear, “Our flight got pushed up to like now, we have 15 minutes to get down there!” Once again we get a ride to the terminal. Its 1445 and we walk straight out to the flight line where we are informed of the flight plan. Here to Urbil to Mosul to Tel Afar back to Mosul to Mchenry. Oh, and we will refuel twice. Of course we are the last stop, I expect nothing less. This means we have a good three hours of flying coming up. Awesome. The birds are not here yet and I don’t hear them and I’ve just eaten. When something goes in me, something must come out. I run to the toilet trailer and of course the Iraqi Nationals are cleaning it. I can tell this before I even open the door because the stench of BO is really that strong. I wouldn’t have believed it before coming over here but if BO were a weapon Iraqis would claim world dominance. I make it back to the flight line just in time to watch our Blackhawks land. Off we go on another tour of northern Iraq.
So we fly 45 minutes to Urbil. 20 minutes down to Mosul. Wait in Mosul another 20 minutes for some dude to get his crap together. My back starts aching. More than usual. Not just the IOTV but the damn crossfit workout yesterday. It kicked my ass. I puked post workout. Today I’m sore. Fly over to fuel point. Get out, wait 15 minutes, get back in. Fly 25 minutes to Tel Afar. Fly 25 minutes back to Mosul. Begin our final flight to Mchenry. This flight is taking forever. 40 minutes in we start to see some burning oil fields. I don’t remember these near Mchenry last time. I look across at Jill. She appears confused too. We see a FOB and make our decent. Jill mouths “I think we’ve been here before” and make a hand gesture that we must need to fill up again. I think to myself that this place does look familiar and we have been flying for a while. Yes, we must have made an unscheduled stop to fuel up. We land and as we make a turn on the tarmac the three of us all see the large hanger. We all look at each and yell at the same time “We are back at FOB Warrior!!!” The place looks familiar cause we freaking live here! Three and a half hours and at least one aching back later we are back where we started. Crew chief says sorry but the weather wouldn’t let us into Mchenry. Its 1630 and this 16th day of March is a complete waste. FML
Jenny, I hope your birthday treated you better than it did me but Happy Birthday anyway Sister!
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Leave Him Be
Day 96 09MAR2010: This Blog is about some events that began earlier in the deployment but I thought I should wait a while to write about them.
I’m at my desk a couple of months ago just before lunch time. One of our medics from the front desk area comes back and tells me that there are a couple of guys up front that want to talk to me. I walk up and its two guys from another unit that I know I’ve seen before but at the moment cannot put my finger on where. I’m slightly confused because on their heads they have tan baseball caps with tan and gray American flags on them. On their ACU’s they have taken off their unit patches, their name tapes and their ranks. The older, larger guy asks “Sir, can we speak with you about something?” I reply, “You already are, what’s up?” He is a large dude and looks like he means business. The other guy looks like a 14 year old choir boy who is playing dress up as a Soldier for Halloween. Older dude (and by older I mean maybe 2 years older than me, but without my magnificent full head of hair) makes it clear that what he has to say needs to be told in private so we head back to the PT room. He then asks or should I say whispers, “Sir, we are here to see if you are interested in helping us out.” “You may be needed from time to time to come over to another area on the FOB and give us a hand.” Kind of confused, and not really knowing what the hell is going on I ask him to give me a little more info. He says he cannot. I reply “Just so we are on the same page, you know I’m a physical therapist right?” “Right.” “Are you asking me to help in my professional area?” “Yes.” “Okay then, I’ll be glad to help you guys out, what do you need?” He says he’ll come pick me up here at the clinic tonight at 1900 and bring me to the special operations compound and I can meet some of the guys and they can let me know what they have in mind. He then tells me not to tell my chain of command or anyone else about this and wants to make sure that I know that I am volunteering my time and that in no way is he asking me to let this get in the way of my normal duties. I tell him I get it and not to worry. At this time I’m thinking in my head that this is too funny that he is treating this like some undercover espionage shit and I’m pretty sure I’m just going to go evaluate or treat some special ops guys…but whatever, I’ll play along. “See you guys later.”
He comes to the clinic right at 1900, takes a look at me (I must have looked like shit), and tells me that I should go shower and get cleaned up. He’ll come back and pick me up at my CHU at 2100 and bring me over. Okay, one: am I getting ready to do some Army shit or go on a date? and two: that’s getting towards my bedtime son! He is kind enough to give me a ride from the clinic to my CHU. Our ride is the most beat up piece of crap up-armored humvee I’ve ever seen. I sit in the back and the two guys from earlier are up front. The front windshield is so dirty outside the wiper marks and inside the wiper paths the windows are so scratched that you really cannot see a damned thing. They laugh as we nearly hit some walking Soldiers. They drop me off and its “We’ll see you in a couple of hours Sir”. I get in my CHU and look in the mirror, yep I look like hell. [Side note: The Army portrays this manly façade. The Army is tough, strong and gritty, right? Well no, from my experiences the Army is far more concerned with personal appearance than Ryan Seacrest before his senior prom. From our hair, to our beards, to our workout attire and our uniforms; the Army is going to make sure you dress the part. I may be an incompetent asshole but I sure can wear a uniform…promote immediately.]
So I put on my Sunday’s best and they pick me up at my CHU. The dude slams on my door as if I may be up on the third floor or perhaps in my media room. C’mon man I’m in a CHU, have a little tact…special ops my ass. We get back in their bat-mobile and ride towards another part of CHU city to pick up another “package” as they call it. The other package never shows and when they get back from his CHU they tell me that this other package told his leadership who didn’t like the sound of it so they didn’t give him permission to come play. “At least we have one package” says Big Guy to High School Guy.
Just to recount where we are at now: I am in the back of a ratty ass humvee with two guys I met earlier today. I THINK I am on my way to the special operations compound to meet and perhaps treat some guys, however at this point that is too much info for me to know. I am tired, starting to think I should have stayed in and watched another Haji Movie, and I am now referred to as their package.
We drive across the FOB and end up in front of a gated off area surrounded by massive T-walls. The sign on the gate says “Authorized Personnel Only. Use of Lethal Force Authorized”. We park outside the gate and get out of the vehicle. Big Guy tells me to strip off my name tape, rank, unit patches and head gear. “Sterile environment in here Sir. Also, first names only, no one gives a shit what you are, only what you know and how well you do what you do.” I thought about that sentence and how it would be nice if that were the norm in the Army. He tells me to follow him as we walk into the compound. Inside are a bunch of mobile buildings and some CHU’s. It’s dark so I cannot see a whole lot. Big Guy finally tells me that these are special ops guys and many are Delta Force operators specifically. He reiterates that I cannot tell anyone about the people I meet as many are under cover outside this compound. He says the group’s medic here would like to meet with me and see what I could offer. I wait outside of a building while he goes in to see if anyone is around. He comes back out alone and says SF Medic Guy will be out in a minute. I ask Big Guy, who is in my brigade, why he is working over here. Again he gets all hush hush and tells me they are sort of attached to these guys doing some training and missions with them but that he cannot go into details. He reveals that he is a medic himself and that tonight we will be sitting in on a trauma course the SF Medic guy will be teaching. I think to myself than why am I here?
Minutes later SF Medic Guy comes out and introduces himself and I do the same. He’s friendly and chill as are all the other guys I meet that night. Everyone has a confidence about them that I imagine comes with the job. They wear civilian clothes some have beards. They call me Kyle, not Sir, not Captain Sela. I like it over here. The class is fine, basically pointless for me, but fine. I think they just wanted to meet me and get a feel for what kind of guy I am. Sort of like a date right? Good thing I shaved.
Days later I see Big Guy roaming around our clinic. He tells me he needs to talk to me again before he leaves this morning. Here we go again. “Hey Sir, there is a guy with shoulder pain that SF Medic Guy would like you to take a look at tonight if you have time.” “Sure man, what time?” I reply. “Is 2130 okay Sir?” This is late for me but really what do I have to do out here. And honestly I would love to work more with these guys. It’s nice knowing that they are absolutely not going to ask for help unless they are actually needing it. There is no faking, no malingering, no fishing for a “No Running” profile. Just bad ass dudes wanting to perform at their peak. I guess I just need to get used to working during their hours…these guys do work at night.
Big Guy picks me up again that night. Back to the bat-mobile and over to the compound. Through the gate we walk and into some lighting. I look around and realize I am the only one sterile this time. “What the hell man, why do you guys have on your name and rank?” “Oh yeah Sir, rules changed today” he replies. “Thanks for the heads up guy” I mutter. Now I look like a douche. SF Medic Guys walks us back into a new building. We step right through the front door into their gym. It’s small but has great equipment. Not the circa 1985 YMCA equipment at the rest of the gyms around here. The guy I’m supposed to look at is not here. We head through a back door and into a long, dark, damp hallway with doors on both sides. I’m trailing Big Guy and as we are walking he looks back at me with a big grin and points over his head at a room on the right. I look in and realize we are in some type of detainee holding area where other "packages" are being held in cells. I try not to look surprised. I’m confident I pulled it off. We find our guy and head back into the gym where I perform my physical therapy magic. As we leave that night Big Guy tells me that these guys will try to pay me back by taking me to their range to let me shoot some different weapons and teach me some different firing tactics. “Sounds good” I say. Thinking in my head that firing weapons, while cool, just doesn’t do it for me…I would like to work out with these cats though. Different strokes for different folks right?
I don’t hear from Big Guy again for weeks. When he comes to find me the next time he tells me that the teams head mofo is in some serious back pain and is laid up on the floor in the fetal position. It’s about 1500 and he asks if I can come check him out right now. We bust over there and along the way Big Guy tells me just how badass this guy is. The stories get the point across well. I meet up with SF Medic Guy first to get his assessment. He tells me that GI Joe has been asleep for about a half hour now in what amounts to a medicated coma. He debates with himself whether we should wake him. This debate is not about whether waking him will be best for Joe. This debate is about our safety and how our lives might be extremely shortened if he wakes in a fit of rage. “I’ve seen it get ugly” SF Medic Guy says. I try to tell them that his sleep is more important but he insists that since I came all the way over here. Shit, I think to myself. SF Medic Guy opens the door slowly and we see him passed out on the floor. He whispers his name twice and I can see the wheels continuing to turn in SF Medic Guy’s head. He pulls his head out, closes the door and turns to us. “Best we leave him be right?” he says. “Yeah you know I really think its best I come back later.” We all concur on this one. I see GI Joe a few times over the next week. We get him back at it quickly. He is a great guy, really appreciative and kindly lets me live.
Only as an Army PT right?
I’m at my desk a couple of months ago just before lunch time. One of our medics from the front desk area comes back and tells me that there are a couple of guys up front that want to talk to me. I walk up and its two guys from another unit that I know I’ve seen before but at the moment cannot put my finger on where. I’m slightly confused because on their heads they have tan baseball caps with tan and gray American flags on them. On their ACU’s they have taken off their unit patches, their name tapes and their ranks. The older, larger guy asks “Sir, can we speak with you about something?” I reply, “You already are, what’s up?” He is a large dude and looks like he means business. The other guy looks like a 14 year old choir boy who is playing dress up as a Soldier for Halloween. Older dude (and by older I mean maybe 2 years older than me, but without my magnificent full head of hair) makes it clear that what he has to say needs to be told in private so we head back to the PT room. He then asks or should I say whispers, “Sir, we are here to see if you are interested in helping us out.” “You may be needed from time to time to come over to another area on the FOB and give us a hand.” Kind of confused, and not really knowing what the hell is going on I ask him to give me a little more info. He says he cannot. I reply “Just so we are on the same page, you know I’m a physical therapist right?” “Right.” “Are you asking me to help in my professional area?” “Yes.” “Okay then, I’ll be glad to help you guys out, what do you need?” He says he’ll come pick me up here at the clinic tonight at 1900 and bring me to the special operations compound and I can meet some of the guys and they can let me know what they have in mind. He then tells me not to tell my chain of command or anyone else about this and wants to make sure that I know that I am volunteering my time and that in no way is he asking me to let this get in the way of my normal duties. I tell him I get it and not to worry. At this time I’m thinking in my head that this is too funny that he is treating this like some undercover espionage shit and I’m pretty sure I’m just going to go evaluate or treat some special ops guys…but whatever, I’ll play along. “See you guys later.”
He comes to the clinic right at 1900, takes a look at me (I must have looked like shit), and tells me that I should go shower and get cleaned up. He’ll come back and pick me up at my CHU at 2100 and bring me over. Okay, one: am I getting ready to do some Army shit or go on a date? and two: that’s getting towards my bedtime son! He is kind enough to give me a ride from the clinic to my CHU. Our ride is the most beat up piece of crap up-armored humvee I’ve ever seen. I sit in the back and the two guys from earlier are up front. The front windshield is so dirty outside the wiper marks and inside the wiper paths the windows are so scratched that you really cannot see a damned thing. They laugh as we nearly hit some walking Soldiers. They drop me off and its “We’ll see you in a couple of hours Sir”. I get in my CHU and look in the mirror, yep I look like hell. [Side note: The Army portrays this manly façade. The Army is tough, strong and gritty, right? Well no, from my experiences the Army is far more concerned with personal appearance than Ryan Seacrest before his senior prom. From our hair, to our beards, to our workout attire and our uniforms; the Army is going to make sure you dress the part. I may be an incompetent asshole but I sure can wear a uniform…promote immediately.]
So I put on my Sunday’s best and they pick me up at my CHU. The dude slams on my door as if I may be up on the third floor or perhaps in my media room. C’mon man I’m in a CHU, have a little tact…special ops my ass. We get back in their bat-mobile and ride towards another part of CHU city to pick up another “package” as they call it. The other package never shows and when they get back from his CHU they tell me that this other package told his leadership who didn’t like the sound of it so they didn’t give him permission to come play. “At least we have one package” says Big Guy to High School Guy.
Just to recount where we are at now: I am in the back of a ratty ass humvee with two guys I met earlier today. I THINK I am on my way to the special operations compound to meet and perhaps treat some guys, however at this point that is too much info for me to know. I am tired, starting to think I should have stayed in and watched another Haji Movie, and I am now referred to as their package.
We drive across the FOB and end up in front of a gated off area surrounded by massive T-walls. The sign on the gate says “Authorized Personnel Only. Use of Lethal Force Authorized”. We park outside the gate and get out of the vehicle. Big Guy tells me to strip off my name tape, rank, unit patches and head gear. “Sterile environment in here Sir. Also, first names only, no one gives a shit what you are, only what you know and how well you do what you do.” I thought about that sentence and how it would be nice if that were the norm in the Army. He tells me to follow him as we walk into the compound. Inside are a bunch of mobile buildings and some CHU’s. It’s dark so I cannot see a whole lot. Big Guy finally tells me that these are special ops guys and many are Delta Force operators specifically. He reiterates that I cannot tell anyone about the people I meet as many are under cover outside this compound. He says the group’s medic here would like to meet with me and see what I could offer. I wait outside of a building while he goes in to see if anyone is around. He comes back out alone and says SF Medic Guy will be out in a minute. I ask Big Guy, who is in my brigade, why he is working over here. Again he gets all hush hush and tells me they are sort of attached to these guys doing some training and missions with them but that he cannot go into details. He reveals that he is a medic himself and that tonight we will be sitting in on a trauma course the SF Medic guy will be teaching. I think to myself than why am I here?
Minutes later SF Medic Guy comes out and introduces himself and I do the same. He’s friendly and chill as are all the other guys I meet that night. Everyone has a confidence about them that I imagine comes with the job. They wear civilian clothes some have beards. They call me Kyle, not Sir, not Captain Sela. I like it over here. The class is fine, basically pointless for me, but fine. I think they just wanted to meet me and get a feel for what kind of guy I am. Sort of like a date right? Good thing I shaved.
Days later I see Big Guy roaming around our clinic. He tells me he needs to talk to me again before he leaves this morning. Here we go again. “Hey Sir, there is a guy with shoulder pain that SF Medic Guy would like you to take a look at tonight if you have time.” “Sure man, what time?” I reply. “Is 2130 okay Sir?” This is late for me but really what do I have to do out here. And honestly I would love to work more with these guys. It’s nice knowing that they are absolutely not going to ask for help unless they are actually needing it. There is no faking, no malingering, no fishing for a “No Running” profile. Just bad ass dudes wanting to perform at their peak. I guess I just need to get used to working during their hours…these guys do work at night.
Big Guy picks me up again that night. Back to the bat-mobile and over to the compound. Through the gate we walk and into some lighting. I look around and realize I am the only one sterile this time. “What the hell man, why do you guys have on your name and rank?” “Oh yeah Sir, rules changed today” he replies. “Thanks for the heads up guy” I mutter. Now I look like a douche. SF Medic Guys walks us back into a new building. We step right through the front door into their gym. It’s small but has great equipment. Not the circa 1985 YMCA equipment at the rest of the gyms around here. The guy I’m supposed to look at is not here. We head through a back door and into a long, dark, damp hallway with doors on both sides. I’m trailing Big Guy and as we are walking he looks back at me with a big grin and points over his head at a room on the right. I look in and realize we are in some type of detainee holding area where other "packages" are being held in cells. I try not to look surprised. I’m confident I pulled it off. We find our guy and head back into the gym where I perform my physical therapy magic. As we leave that night Big Guy tells me that these guys will try to pay me back by taking me to their range to let me shoot some different weapons and teach me some different firing tactics. “Sounds good” I say. Thinking in my head that firing weapons, while cool, just doesn’t do it for me…I would like to work out with these cats though. Different strokes for different folks right?
I don’t hear from Big Guy again for weeks. When he comes to find me the next time he tells me that the teams head mofo is in some serious back pain and is laid up on the floor in the fetal position. It’s about 1500 and he asks if I can come check him out right now. We bust over there and along the way Big Guy tells me just how badass this guy is. The stories get the point across well. I meet up with SF Medic Guy first to get his assessment. He tells me that GI Joe has been asleep for about a half hour now in what amounts to a medicated coma. He debates with himself whether we should wake him. This debate is not about whether waking him will be best for Joe. This debate is about our safety and how our lives might be extremely shortened if he wakes in a fit of rage. “I’ve seen it get ugly” SF Medic Guy says. I try to tell them that his sleep is more important but he insists that since I came all the way over here. Shit, I think to myself. SF Medic Guy opens the door slowly and we see him passed out on the floor. He whispers his name twice and I can see the wheels continuing to turn in SF Medic Guy’s head. He pulls his head out, closes the door and turns to us. “Best we leave him be right?” he says. “Yeah you know I really think its best I come back later.” We all concur on this one. I see GI Joe a few times over the next week. We get him back at it quickly. He is a great guy, really appreciative and kindly lets me live.
Only as an Army PT right?
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